<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Dabble In Toxic Gas by Thunderrrstruck</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071272">A Dabble In Toxic Gas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderrrstruck/pseuds/Thunderrrstruck'>Thunderrrstruck</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Psych (TV 2006)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chemical Pneumonia, Chemical Weapons, Chlorine Gas, F/M, Hospitalisation, Ventilator, Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 00:42:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderrrstruck/pseuds/Thunderrrstruck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When your suspect has a degree in chemical engineering, you should expect them to know how to weaponise the household cleaning products.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer, Juliet O'Hara/Shawn Spencer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Dabble In Toxic Gas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for day 13 of Whumptober2020. Prompt: chemical pneumonia. Set: late season 7 probs.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One could say there were little to no thoughts in his head as Shawn raced inside the front door. His motivator was the case itself, as it always was. Things usually panned out for the better. He’d been shot, tied up, and caught in a burning building among other things, and every escape only stoked his confidence.</p><p>He didn’t expect to barely make back to the outdoors, coughing to diminish the wildfire in his lungs. Police sirens blared, blue light spiralling around the house and the surrounding trees. But he found only a margin of relief in their presence. Every breath he took whistled. The harder he gasped, the less air he captured. And the less he captured, the shakier his legs became. He collapsed into the porch railing, the smell of peppers and pineapple lingering in his nose. He broke into another round of coughs, as the weight in his chest increased.</p><p>His feet slipped down the stairs, missing the last one entirely, and pivoting straight for the brick walk. Until he was not. He crashed into a lanky beanpole of a man. Hands were suddenly upon his arms, holding him upright and at bay.</p><p>“Jesus, Spencer!”</p><p>Even in his disoriented state, he knew immediately who he’d crashed into.</p><p>“Lass–” he rasped. “<em>Gas!</em> Lots of– can’t–” As far as the other words of his sentence went, they never made it out of his head.</p><p>He was being steered away. By now, Shawn was barely processing what he was seeing. He continuously searched for definition, for the details, but his eyes could only circle ambiguously. And his chest burned hotter by the minute.</p><p>“Sit,” Lassie grunted. Shawn turned his gaze towards the source. Too slow. Someone shoved him on the shoulders, manually sinking him onto the edge of... something. He caught the beanpole’s commanding bark, and vaguely heard the word ‘hospital’. <em>No, I can help</em>, he thought, struggling to a stand, but there were bounds in the way. Since when had he been laying down? Shawn flipped his head to the other side of the pillow, but a dark grey obscured any figures that might have been around. He heard warped mumbles, a far cry from any actual dialogue, a far cry from anything human at that. All he felt still was the raging fire in his lungs, until he didn’t even have that anymore.</p><p>—</p><p><em>Oh</em>, how it was loud. The beeping, incessant beeping. It was assaulting his eardrums. <em>How about that silence, huh?</em> The dark grey he had found himself particularly enjoying began to lighten. Even at its gradual pace, his raw senses recoiled. His ears were too clear. On the other side of his eyelids, he felt a source of pain – bright white pain. His chest smouldered, but it was nothing like whatever was lodged in his throat.</p><p><em>Ow, ow, ow, ow–</em> He couldn’t form the letters to verbalise, let alone muster enough breath to speak. A timid creak was all the sound emitted</p><p>Someone must’ve heard Shawn’s grunt, as a hand laid upon his arm. Next he knew, a hushed voice was speaking. It took too much concentration to understand its message, but he got a distinct sensation of colour. Blonde, why was he hearing blonde?</p><p>Shawn opened his eyes only to immediately regret it.</p><p>
  <em>Too bright, too bright!</em>
</p><p>Yet, he longed to see the source of comfort, so her compromised and squinted into the brilliance. The light died enough for him to make it out.</p><p><em>Jules!</em> he wanted to exclaim. And he would have, if it weren’t for the tube tracing his throat. Shawn turned his head as far as allowed, aching to smile. He couldn’t even do that. What could he do?</p><p>Hoping she’d notice, he crawled a hand for the edge of the bed. Jules’ head dipped towards Shawn’s side. <em>She must have</em>, he thought in relief, for he felt a soft pressure upon his fingers. He enjoyed this far more than what pressure felt like a rock lodged in his throat. Channeling all his energy into his hand, he pulled back his fingers, lifted them over hers, and squeezed. Perhaps it wasn’t anything substantial, but it was the only form of communication at his fingertips. <em>Literally</em> so.</p><p><em>I’m okay</em>, he said with the squeeze. <em>I’m okay.</em></p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>